


Eight Pairs Is Really Too Many

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Handcuffs, Non-sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock steals Lestrade's handcuffs again.  John thinks that eight times is way too many, and decides to make him give them back.  Much crackiness ensues.</p><p>(Silly little fill for the LJ prompt at http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=130703110#t130703110, asking for Sherlock to be in handcuffs for some non-sexual reason.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Pairs Is Really Too Many

“The look on his face!” Sherlock stumbled through the door ahead of John and launched himself into an ungainly sprawl on the sofa. “Anderson wasn’t entirely sure he understood you, so he couldn’t object, and you held that blank expression _just right_ so he couldn’t read you either. Oh, I’m going to be remembering him puzzling that one over for a long time.”

“Yeah, thanks.” John leaned against the doorframe and just watched his flatmate. Sherlock could be remarkably feline, sometimes, the way he folded those long limbs in on himself and twisted around to get comfortable-

“What the - oh, right.” Sherlock sat back up, dug in the pocket of his coat, and came up with a pair of handcuffs, which he tossed on the table. “Lestrade really needs to learn to hide those better - I think that makes seven now.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You’ve stolen - pickpocketed - seven pairs of Greg’s handcuffs?”

“Might be eight, actually.” Sherlock frowned, then levered himself up and grabbed the handcuffs on his way to the kitchen. “Hang on, I have the rest all in one of these bins.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you’re collecting handcuffs in a bin in the kitchen.”

“Because Lestrade would take them back if I left them sitting out on the mantel.” He upended a cannister John had previously assumed held flour, and a small pile of police-issue handcuffs fell out.

“Christ, Sherlock!”

Sherlock sifted through the stack. “Ooh, it is eight. Excellent.”

“What does Greg have to say about this?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Never asked.”

“Ah.” John wandered closer and prodded at the nearest pair. He didn’t have to imagine to know how bloody furious Greg must have been each time Sherlock pulled this stunt - he ranted about Sherlock’s magpie tendencies at his and John’s pub nights often enough. He’d probably love them back, actually, although Sherlock would surely refuse -

 _Oh_. John glanced up at Sherlock’s face, then back to the pile of handcuffs on the table. Sherlock started to back away, but John was faster. He had Sherlock’s wrists cuffed behind his back before Sherlock even had a chance to object.

“What are you-”

“Wouldn’t want them to go to waste, would you?” John said, and snapped a second pair on just above the first.

“I can pick these, you know,” Sherlock grumbled.

“I know.” The third pair went from Sherlock’s right wrist to the back leg of one of the kitchen chairs, which involved some tugging and eventually John sitting on Sherlock to get him into the seat, but it worked. He repeated the process with Sherlock’s left wrist. “This will be a challenge for you, I’m sure.”

Sherlock tried to glare at him over his shoulder, but the effect was spoiled by the ridiculous angle - it looked more like a cheesecake pose than a threat. John wove the fifth and sixth pairs of handcuffs through the slats at the back of the chair and clipped them to somewhere on the now-ungainly lump of police-issue metal around Sherlock’s wrists. “I haven’t cut off your circulation yet, have I?” he suddenly thought to ask.

Sherlock wiggled his fingers. “Not yet, although it’s not from lack of trying. You expect me to escape from this mess?”

“No, not really.” John shrugged. Two more pairs - careful trial and error revealed they weren’t quite large enough to go around Sherlock’s ankles, but John was able to slide them through the laces of Sherlock’s loafers with no trouble at all. He linked one to each chair leg, just above the strut so Sherlock couldn’t just lean back and slide them off.

He stepped back and admired his handiwork. Sherlock was clearly Not Pleased, but he didn’t look mad - more annoyed than anything, really. And it was all his fault to begin with, the way John saw it - if he hadn’t gotten Greg in trouble so many times by stealing his property, John wouldn’t have had anything to work with.

He tilted his head and grinned at Sherlock. “I’m shocked - you haven’t picked them yet.”

“I don’t have anything to pick them with.”

“Pity.” John pulled out his mobile and snapped a picture. Then a second and a third, just to ensure he got enough angles to highlight all eight pairs of stolen cuffs. “I don’t know how much wrap-up Greg has left to do on that bank robbery you just solved, but I suspect he’d like to know what happened to these before he gets in trouble _again_ for losing them.”

Sherlock scowled. “You’re going to send him a bloody picture?”

“Nope - I’m going to send all three.” John suited the action to the words, then added a brief text at the end.

_Come on over if you want them back or want to laugh - JW_

Lestrade’s reply was almost immediate:

_You just made my day. Pint? -GL_

It sounded perfect.

_See you in ten. Bring keys if you have them - I don’t think he’s getting out on his own. - JW_

“Right then - I’m off to the pub with Greg. Try not to break the chair when you escape.”


End file.
